


The Merits of Tea and Coffee

by garbage_dono



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Banter, Ferdinand von Aegir walking disaster, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of canon character death, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, Temporarily Unrequited Love, They think they're sly but everyone Knows, gratuitous tea metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-11-02 04:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbage_dono/pseuds/garbage_dono
Summary: "Tea has its merits.""It certainly does, and yet…not everyone enjoys it. There are so many different blends – bergamot, chamomile, angelica. Some are picky, and some enjoy them all, and others prefer coffee."Hubert and Ferdinand try to come to terms with their own desires in the middle of a bloody war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hubert is so much My Preferred Character Aesthetictm that I couldn't help adoring him, and this particular ship snuck up and kicked me in the shins. 
> 
> Kind of a character study more than anything else rn. Not entirely sure where this will go or how long it will be. Rating may change and tags may be added. Haven't finished this route in the game yet so no major plot spoilers to look out for, though there are a couple of spoilers for A-rank supports.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert confesses that he once lied to Lady Edelgard.

There had always been something ethereal about the setting of the sun outside the walls of Garreg Mach, like watching a dwindling fire be swallowed up by the aged stone. Of all of the many hundreds of people who had called the old bones of the monastery home, Edelgard was sure that many of them believed the setting sun was something of a glimpse into the goddess's power. That She was alive in the fire and twilight that covered the western sky at the end of every day.

Edelgard did not see anything of the goddess in the sun, nor in any other part of the sky or sea. She saw it for what it was: another day coming to an end with her and her friends still breathing. With each one that passed, she found herself feeling inexorably lucky.

War raged, death loomed, blood flowed, and yet the world still turned without paying it any mind. It was comforting in one way, and yet unsettling in another. She supposed she could do nothing but let both feelings coexist within her and enjoy her tea while the steam was still rising from the cup. It was a strong, bright blend that should be drunk hot.

"Come sit down, will you?" she called when her lips were just inches from the rim, without looking up from the tea swirling in the delicate porcelain. A moment later he stepped into the corner of her field of vision, orange and pink getting caught up in the sharp angles of his face and staining his pale skin the color of the sky.

She smiled as the hot tea touched her tongue. "I know you don't like bergamot. You don't have to drink it. Just sit with me for a moment, Hubert. These walls have stood for many years yet. They won't come crumbling down if you sit down and take in the last of the sunset for a few minutes."

"Is that an order, Lady Edelgard?"

As an answer, she pushed the opposite chair toward him, over the stone beneath their feet.

Surprisingly, he didn't argue. He tucked his cloak beneath his legs and sat on the other side of the table from her, statue still, staring out at the quickly darkening horizon. Edelgard drank deep from her cup once more before carefully placing it back on the saucer and folding her hands over her knees.

"Have you ever noticed," she said, "that even in such trying times, with war raging and bloodshed so sickeningly common, love still shows its face?"

"Sentimentality is unlike you, Lady Edelgard."

"Is it?" she asked, finally facing him with a quiet laugh. "Perhaps you're right, but I don't think of it as sentimentality at all. Merely observation. Surely you've noticed it too. Caspar was picking sunflowers from the greenhouse the other day. _Brigid _sunflowers."

"You think that a wise use of his time?"

She hid her smile behind her cup once more. "And I heard that Dorothea all but proposed to you."

_That _made him choke a bit, a reaction so rare for him that it very nearly made her laugh. She certainly would not have been able to hide that behind her teacup, but luckily enough she was able to rein it in.

"She seemed to think you would command such a thing," he finally said, and she wondered if the pink on his cheeks was from the sun or not.

"I had no plans to, no. But I certainly wouldn't forbid it. I do have one condition, though."

He rose a brow. "And what might that be?"

"That if you ever do marry, you do so with a proper ceremony that I am able to attend, so that I can toss flower petals on you and your beloved as you come down the aisle."

Perhaps he was right. Maybe this tea really _was _making her sentimental. Though sentimentality wasn't what made her stifle another laugh when Hubert let out a long and drawn out sigh. No, _that _was thanks to her imagining him in a set of wedding robes. Wouldn't that be a sight to behold?

"To what do I owe all this talk of love and weddings?" he asked with what looked like a half-baked sneer. "Surely there are much better uses of everyone's time than such pomp and circumstance."

"Sometimes people _need _a bit of pomp and circumstance, don't you agree?" She turned toward the horizon again, watching the sun dip ever lower. "Just like people need love, in one form or another. War and death and bloodshed demand attention with such fervor that we can't afford to look away for more than a moment, nor should we. And yet…if we allow it to consume us…"

She let her words fade into silence for a moment, and Hubert let out the tiniest of laughs. "Consume us," he repeated. "A fitting way to describe it."

"I'm happy that Caspar was picking those sunflowers," Edelgard said. "As I would be for you, if you did decide to marry."

"Do you think having a lover would make me unpalatable to the ravenous beast that is this war?"

"I would be _happy _for you," she said again. "As your friend. Is it _sentimental _of me to want to see you happy?"

Arms crossed, face unreadable, Hubert let his thoughts turn over and over in his head before he spoke again. After all these years she could almost see him thinking, though about what, she couldn’t say. Finally, he said, "Marrying Dorothea would be a logical decision. She made a sound argument for it, I must admit. The more loyal followers we have to this cause the better, and I suppose that marriage is one of the ultimate shows of loyalty and devotion."

"_Logical,_" Edelgard scoffed. "There you go again, conflating logic with emotion. Do you _want _to marry her?"

"If it would benefit-"

"That's not what I asked, Hubert. I asked if you _wanted _to." When he didn't answer immediately, she softened her tone. "Do you want to marry at all?"

"As I said, I believe there are better uses of our time." A moment passed. "But…if the opportunity arose…I cannot say that I would completely turn up my nose at the thought."

Perhaps the image of him in those wedding robes wasn't so far-fetched after all. Astounding.

But his expression shifted a moment later, and he turned his face from the glowing horizon until his dark hair cast a shadow over his eyes. "Although…Lady Edelgard, I must confess…I have lied to you."

She blinked. "Lied to me?"

"You asked me not very long ago about the identity of the one I love. And I told you that it was you."

She didn't have an answer for that. She turned to glance down at her tea, where the last of what remained in the cup was growing cold. "And that was a lie, was it?"

"Do not misunderstand, Lady Edelgard – I pledged my life to you, wholly and without hesitation. And if I had to put that devotion into words, well…I suppose 'love' would be as decent a descriptor as any other. But if what you wanted to know was with whom I was _in _love, well…those two are very different things, are they not? And that is my sin, Lady Edelgard. A sin of omission. I care for you, yes, but I-"

"Hubert." He paused, and it seemed that her warm smile had taken him off-guard. "It's alright. I understand. My heart isn't so easily broken, I assure you." She reached for her cup again, before the steam faded completely from where it was sluggishly rising from the rim. "So…who is she, then? If not me, or Dorothea, is there one that you love in a way that _wouldn't _make it a lie?"

Something flashed across his eyes. Something that Edelgard had scarcely seen in nearly two decades of knowing Hubert von Vestra. Something almost like…longing. It made the smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth a moment later all that more bitter. "That is the rub, isn't it?" he sighed, that slight smile still lending an odd little slant to his voice. "For even if I wish to tell you the truth, that is a question that I cannot honestly answer."

"Why is that?"

"Because there simply is no answer at all, Lady Edelgard. There is no way for me to answer you when you ask me such things, I'm afraid. Although it pains me to admit it."

She watched the sun dip down beneath the horizon, leaving behind its last remnants of light giving way to the stars above. She felt the warmth of her tea fading against her palms. And as she looked at him in the fading light, suddenly it was clear – so clear that she felt like a fool for taking so long to realize it.

"I think I understand," she said as she placed her cup down once more and relented that the rest was doomed to cool. "Tell me...you've always preferred coffee to tea, yes? Even the strongest, most bitter blends don't quite appeal to your pallet the way coffee might."

For a moment he seemed confused, but he nodded. "Tea has its merits."

"It certainly does, and yet…not everyone enjoys it. There are so many different blends – bergamot, chamomile, angelica. Some are picky, and some enjoy them all, and others prefer coffee."

"Lady Edelgard-"

There was a befuddled and concerned pinch in his brow, and surely he had to be wondering if she had gone completely mad. But she smiled at him once again all the same. "What's _his_ name, then?"

For the first time in recent memory, she saw Hubert von Vestra well and truly speechless. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide beneath his bangs, and she had to laugh.

"Come now, Hubert – you can't possibly think that I would be so closed-minded not to consider it. Just tell me…is that a question you could answer honestly?"

He swallowed, letting his shoulders drop in what looked like immense relief. Finally, a smile graced his own lips too. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I could indeed, Lady Edelgard."

"Would you ever answer it?" she asked gently, and then her gaze flicked to her teapot again, and she grinned. "Or no…don't answer it. I think I already know. Of _course._"

"Who it may be is of little consequence."

"Of little consequence? I hardly think so."

"I'm afraid I must insist that it is, Your Majesty. Things are of little consequence by their very nature when there is destined to be nothing that comes of them. Simple wants and desires are nothing more than mist, doing nothing but cloud one's judgment while never being within one's grasp."

There was something heavy in the way he spoke. Something that made Edelgard's heart ache for him. "Do you mean to say that…this person does not return your feelings?"

"As I said, they are not worth dwelling on." 

"Oh, Hubert…" She left the remains of her cup of tea untouched and abandoned on the table before her, shifting her gaze from the fading sunset to the stars instead. "I could fetch some coffee beans from the kitchen and see to getting you a cup if you felt so inclined."

A weight seemed to lift from him, if only slightly. "While I appreciate the gesture greatly, Lady Edelgard, at this late hour it is probably best not to partake. Though I hope you haven't let your tea go cold on my account."

"There will be plenty of hot cups of tea in my future, or at least I very much hope so. Tell me, did you come out here merely to confess that you had lied to your emperor?"

"I supposed that if you desired to take my head for the transgression, it might behoove me to take in one last sunset before facing the void."

"I'll spare you for now," she promised him.

"My life is in your hands then." He stood once more, bowing deep and lingering just a moment or two longer than usual. "As it always is, Your Majesty."

She watched him take his leave, and she almost let him go, but instead of staying silent, she stood to stretch her legs and added, "Ferdinand is not as oblivious as he may seem at first." At the edge of her periphery, Hubert froze. "Nor am I completely blind to what is in your heart. My oldest friend's feelings are precious things, Hubert, and I would appreciate it if you did not claim that they're of little consequence."

Squaring his shoulders, Hubert stood stone-still. His face was turned away, completely unreadable, but she could almost picture the flash in his eyes as he pushed down a wave of emotion that he deemed too painful to acknowledge. She had seen enough of that these past five years. "I shall…keep that in mind, Your Majesty."

She hoped he would.

She supposed it was all she could ask.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert asks Ferdinand for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback on the first chapter! This turned out much longer than expected. 
> 
> I finished the Black Eagles Crimson Flower route this weekend so plot spoilers are more prevalent in this chapter, up to about Chapter 12-13ish. Endgame spoilers for the route will feature more in future chapters.
> 
> Have 5k words of Hubert's POV.

Byleth had a pinch in her brow as she sat across from him in the seminar hall, fingers tapping on the page in front of her. There was something she wanted to say, surely, but the silence merely dragged on for a moment or two more.

“If my performance was lacking, Professor,” Hubert finally said, “You need only say as much.”

She closed her book. “You failed the certification.”

He had suspected as much. His skills with dark magic were unparalleled and his performance with the lance had improved by leaps and bounds that he’d never expected, but his riding abilities were still…lacking.

“Disappointing,” he huffed.

“Not by much,” Byleth assured him, as if the distinction mattered.

It was an unacceptable shortcoming. They had nearly lost Linhardt in their last battle when a band of mercenaries had ambushed him from the east. If it had not been for Bernadetta and her deadly aim with her bow, the attack would have added him to the ever-growing list of their casualties.

Had Hubert been on horseback, his miasma would have engulfed the bastards before they’d had a chance to draw their weapons.

“Failure is still failure, whether it’s by a sliver or a mile,” he said as he stood. “Clearly my studies were lacking. I will re-double my efforts, Professor.”

“I have an idea.”

He glanced back at his teacher, brow raised. “Do you?”

“You could ask Ferdinand for his help,” Byleth told him.

Ferdinand. Of course. The goddess was laughing at him. “If you intend to improve my performance through torture, perhaps he could.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “He’s the best mounted officer we have in the Black Eagle Strike Force, and you know he’d be happy to help.”

“And he would remind me of his superiority every minute he does, I’m certain.”

“Probably.”

He allowed himself to sigh. “Fine. As loathe as I am to admit it, you’re probably right. It would be unwise of me to turn my nose up at the chance to improve my skills on horseback when it could mean the difference between life or death for myself and Lady Edelgard’s cause.”

Byleth smiled. “That’s the spirit.”

“Please don’t twist the knife in my stomach anymore, Professor.”

* * *

He found Ferdinand, conveniently enough, at the stables. He had his back to the path, a brush in one hand and a palm full of oats in the other, and he seemed in good spirits from the way he was humming as the horse happily munched away.

No, not humming. Talking.

To the horse.

This was going to be more insufferable than Hubert thought.

“What in hell's name are you doing?” he asked, and Ferdinand smiled a she turned and shook the last remnants of the oats from his glove.

“Ah, Hubert!” His smile grew even wider, lighting up his face. How he managed it in the middle of a bloody war, Hubert would never know. “I was simply seeing to Athena here. I cannot very well neglect her when I ask her to put her life on the line in every battle.”

He gave the horse a firm pat on the side of the neck, and she whinnied.

“Offers lively conversation, does she?” Hubert jabbed.

“Mock me all you like,” Ferdinand countered breezily as he got back to running the brush along the horse’s coat. “Athena and I trust each other. A bond between a man and his horse is-“

“Spare me.”

Ferdinand merely chuckled as he moved to the horse’s other flank. That relentless optimism…that smile that refused to die…How the devil was he supposed to put up with it all long enough to learn a thing?

Hubert finally relented and let out a sigh. “I’m afraid I’ve come to ask a…favor of you, Ferdinand.”

“A favor?”

“You _and _your precious Athena, actually.”

The horse turned and attempted to nibble at Ferdinand’s hair when he stopped by her shoulder. Long as it was, he really did have that coming. “And what favor might that be?”

“I need to hone my riding skills. Try as I might to be wherever I’m needed on the battlefield, I must admit that my movements can be limited when traveling on foot. As our foes attack in greater numbers and with more insidious strategies, I cannot afford to put others at risk by falling behind.”

There was a pinch in Ferdinand’s brow as he shooed Athena’s prodding nose away with a gentle nudge. “Is this about what happened to Linhardt? Hubert, surely you must know that was not your fault.”

The last thing he needed from anyone was pity.

“Nevertheless, it cannot happen again. So will you help me or not?”

“Well, if riding experience is what you need…come here. Introduce yourself.”

Hubert eyed the horse warily. “To…the horse?”

“Well I already know you well enough,” Ferdinand quipped. “You will be putting your life in the hands of your mount. That necessitates mutual respect. Besides, how would you feel if someone sauntered up and climbed onto _your _back without first saying hello?”

Hubert groaned. “Alright, you’ve made your point. I’ll humor you.”

He stepped over the threshold of the stable, carefully raising a hand to rest it on the side of the horse’s broad neck. He’d been terrified of the muscular beasts when he had been a child, but spending as much time around them as he had in the years since then extinguished that fear easily.

Still, introducing himself to a horse was not something he had foreseen doing when he had been young. “Hello there…horse…”

“_Athena,_” Ferdinand corrected.

Hubert sighed. “Athena…yes…”

Then suddenly there was pressure on his arm. Ferdinand’s hand pressing against his elbow. His other hand opening Hubert’s gloved fingers and turning up his palm. And suddenly his heart thumped in his chest like it had when he had first approached his father’s prized stallion as a boy.

“What are you-“

Ferdinand dropped a handful of oats into Hubert’s waiting palm. “She is partial to those,” he said as he drew back again, leaving Hubert to stare down at the pile of oats until Athena’s insistent prodding drew his attention back to her. Wordlessly, he let her eat every last morsel out of his hand.

“I’ll have you know these gloves are not meant for being covered in horse slobber,” he said.

“If those gloves can handle battle, they can handle horse spit perfectly fine,” Ferdinand laughed. “I am impressed with you, Hubert. She seems keen to trust you.”

“A handful of oats and a bit of grooming is hardly a difficult thing to offer. A human’s trust is much more difficult to win.”

“That it is.” Ferdinand was already gathering a saddle and reins. “Come then. You said you wanted experience riding, and it is a lovely morning for a ride up to the overlook.”

“That’s quite the ride.”

“It is quite the view!” If Hubert didn’t know better, he would have sworn that Ferdinand winked at him just then. “It will be worth it. You have my word.”

Hubert supposed he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

The ride itself was actually – to Hubert’s surprise – a pleasant one. Mostly quiet aside from the wind in the trees and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the dirt below them. This was the kind of thing that made him understand why people like Bernadetta and Ferdinand were so fond of the creatures. There was something oddly soothing about the rhythmic bounding of the solid mount under him, the feeling of its breath against his legs as they trotted along the winding path.

It was a cool morning with a strong breeze, and as Hubert glanced at him he couldn’t help but wonder how in the world Ferdinand kept his hair from getting tangled and windswept or caught in his face. It was blowing back off of his neck like a thick mane, making him look almost _comically _gallant.

“One day we’re all going to die,” Hubert said, “Because you got your hair in your eyes during a battle.”

Ferdinand threw his head back and laughed. “Me? Disgracing myself so horribly? I would never!”

“Would it be so difficult to pin it back?”

They rounded the bend and emergde from the woods, and the sun hit Ferdinand’s hair at just the right angle to make it shine. Ferdinand – damn him – probably _knew _that much, and he beamed at Hubert as the sun glinted off his teeth too. “I did not take such care in growing it out so that I could tie it up like a prisoner.”

Of course not. 

He focused his gaze on the road again and heard Ferdinand laugh. “It is a straightaway up to the overlook,” he announced, and the moment Hubert caught him smirking he _knew _what he was about to suggest. “What do you say to a friendly race to our destination?”

“If you lose to the person who asked for your expertise, how will you show your face in the monastery again?”

“As if I intend to lose,” Ferdinand fired back. “Do you accept?”

“I suppose I cannot back down.”

“Not if you want me to continue tutoring you.”

_Tutoring. _That was surely one word for it. Hubert couldn’t help but chuckle. “Very well. To the overlook.”

As much as he had improved in these last few months, it still sent a thrill rushing through him when the horse broke out into a gallop. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, resisting the urge to turn and look at Ferdinand as he came up alongside and passed him, and before long he was watching as Ferdinand pulled farther and farther ahead of him on the path.

He wasn’t surprised. Wasn’t even disappointed. Unlike Ferdinand, he could admit when he was second best, and when it came to riding, there were plenty of people who out-matched him. But he couldn’t help but marvel at how Ferdinand’s body moved with each stride, how effortlessly he leaned into momentum of the of the movement. Hubert could admire the obvious skill Ferdinand commanded.

And he had to admit Ferdinand’s hair did look quite magnificent blowing behind him in the wind.

He made it to the overlook firmly in second place, and Ferdinand was grinning at him like an excited child, already dismounting by the time Hubert came to a stop. “You made me wait,” he said, a flush in his face as he brushed his hair back along the crown of his head.

“Next time, I will leave you in the dust.”

Ferdinand laughed brightly. “I look forward to that day, then.”

Hubert’s legs wobbled a bit as he hopped down onto solid ground again, and he handed the reins to Ferdinand and watched him lead the horses to a soft patch of grass to graze. The flush on his cheeks had faded a bit by the time he dropped himself down onto the soft grass.

He patted the spot next to him.

“Is sitting in the grass a part of your ingenious lesson plan?” Hubert asked, still standing.

“You will be ready for the next lesson when you can beat me in a race,” Ferdinand countered. “Until then, let us take in the view, Hubert. Did I not tell you it was a beautiful one?”

Hubert allowed himself a moment to survey the view from the overlook, and he had to admit that Ferdinand was right. It had always been a gorgeous view, but one that he rarely took the time to savor. For one thing, there was little time for sitting idle when the war effort demanded every bit of his attention.

For another, the overlook was perched high above the valley.

Very high.

He took a step back from the edge – far as it was from them.

Ferdinand muffled a chuckle against the palm of his hand. “You are…not fond of heights, are you?”

Hubert finally sat in the grass next to him. “If I were afraid of heights I never would have come out here at all.”

“I never said you were _afraid _of them,” Ferdinand pointed out with a smirk. “Though I seem to remember you putting up quite the fight back in our school days whenever you were assigned to sky watch duty.”

“_I _seem to remember that may have had something to do with my constantly being assigned to it with you.”

“According to Petra, you made just as much of a fuss when assigned to it with her. Do you truly abhor Petra as much as you do me?”

There was a small, easy smile on his lips, making him look almost _smug. _“Of course I don’t _abhor _Petra.” After a beat, he added, “Nor do I abhor you, for the record.”

“Oh? This is certainly news to me.”

He still sounded as jovial as ever, so if he was holding a grudge, Hubert couldn’t tell. “Oh dear,” Hubert said. “Seems I’ve broken a promise. I seem to remember saying that I would put any future compliments toward you in writing.”

“And you consider saying that you do not _abhor _me to be a compliment?”

“I think so, yes.”

Ferdinand broke out into laughter once again. How he managed to do it so frequently in times like this was beyond him. How contagious it seemed to be was even more so.

“You know, Hubert,” he said, looking out at the vast valley below, watching tendrils of fog dance along the fields and trees, “I cannot help but marvel at how different we are in so many ways, and yet also how alike we are in many others.”

“Alike? You and I?” He counted himself intrigued. “Do tell.”

“We are both nobles, for one. Though I suppose that similarity will not count for much if Edelgard attains her goal of breaking down the system of nobility in the Empire. But beyond that, we are both dedicated to a cause. Both of us were born knowing what we were meant to do in this world. And that is both a blessing in many ways and also a heavy burden to bear.”

Hubert huffed. “I would hardly call the circumstances of our birth similar.”

“Would you not?”

“We were both born of noble blood, to be sure. But to be born into house Vestra is something entirely different than being a child of house Aegir. You were born to carry on your family name, to marry a noblewoman and have children of your own to carry the same banner. I was born, like generations before me, to serve house Hresvelg and Lady Edelgard.”

“You were appointed as her vassal at a very young age, correct?”

“I was six when the duty first fell to me, yes. Not much younger than anyone else who came before me.”

“You have been by Edelgard’s side for a long time yet,” Ferdinand mused, sounding almost reverent. He smiled again a moment later. “I wonder what it would have been like if we had met as children, you and I. I would like to imagine we could have become fast friends, but I suspect you will think that ludicrous.”

Hubert couldn’t subdue his smirk. “Do you really not remember?” he asked.

“Remember what?” Ferdinand blinked at him.

“We _did _meet.”

“What?”

Hubert leaned back to face the sun as it snuck behind a cloud, letting his eyes close as he recalled the day. “One summer, I believe it was. Your father came to Enbarr with his young son in tow.”

“I…I remember that trip. I was young, but…it was my first time seeing Enbarr. And yes, I do remember meeting the emperor, as well as his young daughter. But you…”

“My my, Ferdinand. Am I truly that forgettable?”

“Surely I would have remembered if I met you back then.”

“Well it’s no matter if you’ve forgotten me. I could never quite forget you, though. Not after you made such a fool of yourself tripping on the cobblestone path and knocking out a tooth that I believe may still be sitting in the dirt somewhere in the shrubbery of the Hresvelg estate.” He chuckled, deep in his chest. “_My, _how you cried.”

Ferdinand’s eyes went wide, and Hubert swore that was a blush creeping along his cheeks. Still embarrassed of that display after all these years, was he? “Yes! Yes, I remember! My shoe caught in a loose stone, and-“ Realization rolled over his features like the fog enveloping the valley below them. “You…I do remember you. A quiet dark-haired boy who barely left Edelgard’s side that entire day. Even then, you were in separable from her.”

“It was my duty.”

Then Ferdinand held his gaze for just a moment longer than was comfortable, and with an almost melancholy smile etched onto his face, he said, “I seem to remember that boy looked so very sad.”

For the life of him, Hubert couldn’t muster a reply. Something twisted in his chest – the way Ferdinand _looked _at him, with such genuine…_sweetness. _Even looking over the cliff at the sheer drop below them was preferable to holding his gaze.

Ferdinand tilted his head heavenward again and sighed. “I do not know how it feels to have such a duty to another person from such a young age,” he admitted. “But I do know that the weight of duty can be a heavy one. I remember the day my father told me that I was betrothed to be married to a woman I had never even met.”

Hubert turned to him again, now that Ferdinand’s gaze was pointed elsewhere. “You were betrothed.”

“Are you really so surprised?” Ferdinand laughed. “I am a noble after all. Nobles rarely marry for love. I was betrothed – to Bernadetta in fact.”

“_Bernadetta?_”

“She was just as surprised to learn of it as you seem to be!” As his laughter faded, he let himself lie back in the grass, his arms folded behind his head. “It did not work out as intended, obviously, and honestly, I am grateful for that. She would not have been happy, as hard as I would have tried to make her so. We were truly lucky to have met at the monastery instead, as classmates, rather than at the altar.” He went quiet for a moment, then added, “And I must admit…I was relieved for more selfish reasons as well.”

“Selfish reasons?”

“Surely you have thought about, Hubert,” Ferdinand said with a smile. “What it would be like to marry someone that you love.”

No.

No, he most certainly had _not. _

Not when he had more important things to be focusing on than his own detestable emotions. They would only get in the way, and that was something he could not afford.

He crossed his arms. “Not particularly, no.”

“Truly?” Ferdinand pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at him as if he had grown another head. “I think that of all the privileges and gifts I have been given for being of noble birth, I must admit that I have always…envied commoners for that. No houses to live for and no family names hinging on them to pass on. Sometimes it truly sounds like something quite beautiful.”

Hubert bit the inside of his cheek as something hot and aching rose up in his chest. He pushed it down, ignoring how the cool afternoon air suddenly felt too thick to breathe.

Ferdinand let out a chuckle. “If Dorothea were here, I do not doubt she would have thrown me off of this cliff by now for saying such things. I admit that it may sound ridiculous coming from the mouth of a noble who has been blessed with so much where others have so little. I would have done my duty proudly if it had come to that. But I did always secretly hope that one day I would be able to court and marry someone I truly cared for.”

“And who, pray tell, might that unfortunate soul be?” Hubert asked, before he could stop himself. The moment the words left his mouth he wanted to reel them back in.

He didn’t want to know.

It did him no good to know.

But Ferdinand was already smiling at him with that same look in his eye from before that made Hubert want to fling himself off this damn cliff under his own strength. “There is…someone,” he said. “One person I have found myself quite…intrigued by. Enamored even. Though I admit I have not yet found the courage to admit it.”

His cheeks were tinged so red that it made the freckles on the bridge of his nose stand out like a constellation. Before he knew what he was doing, Hubert was on his feet.

“I should be going,” he said, striding over to his horse. “We’ve spent enough time with idle chatter here that could be better spent tending to other tasks.”

Ferdinand scrambled to his feet. “Hubert-“ He sighed. “Did I…say something wrong?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hubert huffed. “Stay here admiring the view for as long as you like, but don’t expect me to cover for you if Lady Edelgard inquires after why you’re lazing about instead of preparing for our next move.”

He didn’t wait for Ferdinand to mount his own horse before taking off down the path again at a gallop. 

* * *

He didn’t sleep much on the best of nights.

For years he had trained himself to function on three to four hours at most. When he had first told Linhardt that fact the poor scholar had almost looked like he’d seen a ghost, but Hubert rarely felt the need to sleep in. There was so much to do that even a few hours’ rest was a luxury.

Some nights sleep didn’t come at all.

Tonight was one of those nights.

On nights like this he found it best to at least do something productive. If the library had had a soul, it would have grown very tired of him by now.

But tonight, he pushed open the door and found that he was not alone – the candles were already lit and a flash of dark hair was sticking out from behind a tall stack of books at least twenty tomes high on the far desk.

“What in hell’s name are you doing here, Bernadetta?”

She spun around so quickly that it was a marvel that tower of books didn’t tumble at her feet. “Hubert!”

“In the flesh.” He closed the door behind him, the candlelight flickering. “You hardly answered my question.”

Though he supposed she could ask him the same. She didn’t, instead clasping her hands in front of her like she was erecting an imaginary barrier and saying, “I was just…returning some books.”

His eyes scanned the tower, surely at least as tall as she was. “You are returning…all of these?”

“I…I happened to have them lying around in my room, and…may have lost track of how long they were there.”

“And just how long, pray tell, have you been hoarding these books in your own room?”

She pouted. “I wasn’t _hoarding _anything! And not very long. Just a few…” She retreated behind the tower and the rest of her sentence was lost in an incomprehensible mumble. He _thought _she had said “weeks,” but he chose to believe he’d heard wrong.

She peeked out a moment later. “Um…did you come in here because you heard me? Did I wake you up?”

“Do you mean, did I hear you rustling around in the library all the way from the dormitories?” he sneered. “No, Bernadetta, Not even if I had the hearing of a bat. I had no idea that you were even awake at this time of night.”

“Then…why are you in here?”

He crossed his arms, and he must have glowered because Bernadetta disappeared behind her books again.

“Ah! Forget I asked!”

“Sleep eluded me,” he sighed. “As it does often enough that I’m used to it by now. And I’m also not used to seeing others roaming the halls in the middle of the night.”

Surely the books could have waited until morning, unless she also had a reason that she didn’t want to go to sleep quite yet. He knew that feeling well enough.

She was ignoring him, it seemed – instead focused on struggling to get one of the books back on a shelf so far over her head that it was obviously a futile effort. Saying nothing more, he strode across the room and plucked it from her hand, sliding it back into place on the shelf above his head.

“Um…thank you.”

He glanced back at the pile. “You’ve really read all of these?”

“I finished most of them a while ago. I was going to return them sooner, but I kept forgetting about it…But none of them are too important though, so it’s not like I was doing any harm having them outside of the library for so long!” She grabbed another book and scurried over to tuck it into the space on the bottom shelf. “Please don’t tell Edelgard that I had all of these out…”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he said as he took another.

Between the two of them they got the books sorted and put away quickly, though Hubert still hadn’t wrapped his mind around how in the hell she had managed to get them all here from the dormitories.

He reached up to return the last book to its place, glancing down at its cover. A tome on horses and the lineage of all their different breeds – a dry read for most, but for someone interested in husbandry it could easily be fascinating. Still, he didn’t care much for its contents. The horse’s head stamped into the leather on the front, though, brought all manner of things to the forefront of his mind. Things that had nothing to do with purebred Adrestian steeds.

How long was he meant to suffer this ridiculous affliction? This tightness in his chest, the weakness in his fingers, the flush in his face – if he didn’t get a grip on himself soon he was going to get himself killed, or worse, put their war effort in jeopardy.

“Uh…Hubert?”

He turned just as he tucked the damn book away. “That’s all of them. You should go to bed, Bernadetta.”

But she didn’t move. There was something akin to determination blazing in her eyes. “Is…is something wrong?”

He blinked at her, staring so long that she seemed to grow more desperate to retreat by the second. “Wrong?” he finally asked.

“You seem…well, you seem like you’re…upset about something.”

Surely he didn’t wear his emotions so obviously on his sleeve. “What could I possibly have to be upset about, Bernadetta? It’s not as if we’re in the middle of a war for the very fate of the Empire and all those who live in it. Oh wait – we are.”

But instead of backing down, Bernadetta pouted and balled her hands into tight fists at her sides. “I know you’re trying to frighten me off, but it won’t work.”

“Won’t it?”

“Not when I know what you’re doing.” Her expression softened, if only minutely. “You think you’re a big mystery that nobody can read. But I’ve known you more than five years now, Hubert. I know when you’re being your usual terrifying self and when something else is wrong.”

Color him almost impressed. “My my…You are perceptive, aren’t you?”

“Fine, don’t tell me what it is,” she sighed, looking defeated, and she lowered herself into one of the obscenely uncomfortable library chairs. Suddenly she looked so very tired, her shoulders slumped and her eyes downcast. “I came here because I had a nightmare, you know. And I know you probably think that’s really silly, but it was…it was awful. I kept thinking about…about Flayn…and seeing her dying…over and over…and I…I couldn’t bear going back to sleep and seeing that again.”

He remembered that battle well. He was not the only one, it seemed. How could he be? The path they all walked was littered with their past friends. People who they had eaten and trained and laughed with not very long ago.

He remembered how Flayn had stood firm until the very end. How she had sworn to serve Rhea and the church even if it meant her life. He remembered the fire in her eyes. Remembered how she ignored Seteth’s pleas for her to flee as Bernadetta’s arrow had pierced her heart.

Bernadetta took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t change any of it. I’ll be alright in the morning. But I just…can’t go back to my room quite yet.”

“Those dreams will follow you for a long time yet,” he cautioned her. No use sugaring his words now. “You would do well to get used to it.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Anyway, whatever it is that’s keeping you up, you don’t have to tell me. But…can I stay here a little longer? Alone?”

“I’m hardly going to drag you to bed.” He made his way back toward the door.

Before he made it that far, she spoke again: “You could tell me, you know.” He glanced at her. “You could talk to me. To any of us. We’re your friends, Hubert, even if you try not to admit it.”

That set a weight tugging down on his stomach. He opened the door, one foot in the threshold, but he paused there for longer than he cared to admit.

He’d never even said it out loud. He supposed he’d never thought it would do any good. Perhaps he’d hoped that if he never spoke it into existence, it would fade away like a passing summer storm. But his chest ached with every breath, and an ever growing list of things would make it worse, from the smell of tea to the sound of hooves on grass.

He tightened his grip on the doorframe, facing into the hallway. “I am in love with someone who does not love me back,” he said, and whether Bernadetta heard him or not, he didn’t care to find out. All he got in return was silence, and he smiled bitterly. “Sleep well, Bernadetta.”

He closed the door behind him and made his way to the kitchen to see to a strong cup of coffee as first light broke over the monastery.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand takes a leap of faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand von Aegir is a walking disaster man and Hubert doesn't like Feelingstm.

Ferdinand feared he had caused damage beyond repair.

He had been a fool, saying all of those things he had at the overlook. Allowing himself to get lost in nostalgia and fantasies of marriage and love. Hubert had always _despised _nostalgia, and yet Ferdinand had let himself go on about his first trip to Enbarr and his once-upon-a-time betrothal to Bernadetta. He had gotten swept up in it all, but how could he have avoided it?

It had been so _comfortable, _sitting there in the grass, smiling at him. Telling him how desperately he yearned to _court and marry _someone he cared about.

Perhaps it was for the best that Hubert had withdrawn again when he had. Otherwise Ferdinand may have made an even greater fool of himself.

"Goodness, Ferdie," Dorothea sighed. "You're not even touching your tea. It's _cold._"

Caspar paused between bites just long enough to lean over and half-whisper "Do you think he's sick?"

"I am not sick," Ferdinand moaned, though he couldn't argue over whether his tea had gone cold. It had. A crying shame. "I merely…have a lot on my mind."

"So you're not gonna eat that?" Caspar asked, and Ferdinand wordlessly pushed his plate over.

Dorothea huffed. "You're sick alright. _Heartsick, _anyway. Believe me, Ferdie – I know what that looks like."

Heartsick. Never.

Caspar studied him, swallowing a mouthful of bread and leaning close. "Oh…is this about…_you-know-who?_"

"I think so," Dorothea sighed. "For goodness' sake, Ferdie, when are you going to buck up and actually _talk _to the man about how you feel?"

"I saw the two of them riding out toward the woods the other day," Caspar added with a shrug, and Dorothea's eyes went as wide as the plates in front of her.

"_What?_ Why didn't you say something? What happened? What were you two _doing in the woods?_"

Surely she seemed to already have plenty of possible answers swirling through her mind, but Ferdinand certainly wasn't going to let himself get dragged into _that. _He offered a smile, waving her off. "Just some training and nothing more. We rode out to the overlook-"

"The most romantic place this side of the border, you mean."

"It was the _ride _that we were focused on, not the destination. Hubert merely asked me for help honing his skills on horseback. I believe he is hoping it will help him in battle, as opposed to being on foot."

Caspar shivered. "Hubert's already pretty good at making the enemy quake in their boots on the battlefield." He dropped his voice low. "_I'll cut a bloody path through your ranks! _Can't imagine charging in on horseback could make him any _more _terrifying."

"You saw how shaken up he was after what happened to Lin, even though Goddess knows he'll never admit it," Dorothea pointed out. "It's easy for you boys to charge into the fray, all decked out in your armor and wielding lances and gauntlets, but we magic-users can't exactly take an arrow to the chest and keep going. Lin could have been killed."

Ferdinand frowned, aimlessly swirling his cool tea in its cup but never sipping it. He could still almost see it – the moment where they'd thought they'd lost Linhardt to that ambush. And before Bernadetta had loosed the arrow that had saved his life, Ferdinand could have sworn he'd seen Hubert tearing across the battlefield to get there first, magic sparking at his fingertips.

Hubert was cold at times – a distant man who kept himself at arm's length from most of his compatriots. And yet, he cared. Fiercely. Loyally. Unwaveringly.

A deep, aching twinge caught in his chest, and he slammed his cup down again, groaning.

"You know," Caspar mused, "Maybe Dorothea has a point. You don't look so good. Why don't you come train with me?" He grinned. "We'll get your mind off all this stuff with some good dirt and sweat!"

"Oh no you don't – Ferdie, _talk to me. _Something happened. What's wrong?"

He was sure his smile must have looked as forced as it felt, but that didn't stop him from attempting it at least. "Nothing is wrong, Dorothea. You have my word."

She hardly seemed convinced. In fact, she was almost _incensed. _“Oh you hard-headed-“ She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine, don’t talk to me about it. Don’t say I never tried. For goodness’ sake I never thought I’d see the day when Caspar was better at wooing someone than you are, Ferdie.”

Caspar’s face went as red as the jam on his biscuit as he whipped around to face her. “Me? Wooing? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t be coy,” Dorothea said with a smirk. “I saw you gathering those Brigid sunflowers in the greenhouse. Tell me, how did Petra like them?”

“They were for her birthday! I was just trying to do something nice! The professor always got us flowers on our birthdays and you don’t see her trying to seduce anyone!”

“Well, maybe not you.”

“_What?_”

She stood with a sigh. “Go on, go train as much as you like. Repress your feelings together for all I care.”

As she left, Caspar slumped in his seat, looking like he had seen a ghost. He turned to Ferdinand and offered a bemused little half smile. “Maybe…Hubert would like flowers?”

Ferdinand doubted that.

* * *

The battle with the Kingdom army loomed closer every day. It was rarely spoken about – there was no need. Every person in the monastery already knew what it meant. What it demanded from them. What it might cost them.

Ferdinand re-doubled his training efforts. He kept his lance sharpened, his armor polished, and Athena well-fed and groomed. He was ready. They all were.

As ready as they could be, and at the same time not at all.

Hubert did not come to ride with him again, and that was enough to make Ferdinand certain of what he'd suspected. Perhaps he truly had let his emotions get the best of him and broken down five years of burgeoning friendship. And perhaps, in a twisted way, that was for the best.

Perhaps it was, and yet here he was spending a handful of gold on coffee beans.

Perhaps it was, and yet Hubert bought a bag of floral-smelling tea that Ferdinand _knew _he certainly couldn't stand himself.

Perhaps it was, and yet they sat down to drink together once again.

"You've done me a disservice, presenting me with such a generous gift," Hubert mused as he held a steaming cup to his lips and inhaled deeply. "If we go to battle and die at the hands of the Kingdom's army and the blasted Church of Seiros before I can finish it all, I shall never forgive myself."

Ferdinand felt much the same. For a man who claimed to prefer bitter coffee to any blend of tea, he had excellent taste. It seemed Hubert knew him better than he'd given him credit for.

He chose not to let that thought linger, the steam rising off his own cup drawing a flush to his cheeks. He smiled. "I could say the same. It would be a tragedy not to have the chance to enjoy such exquisite tea."

"I suppose we'll have to drink together again to further put a dent in these gifts we were so foolish to present to each other." He raised his cup, a tiny smirk tugging on the edges of his lips. "To surviving this blasted war, if only for the sake of not wasting good coffee."

"I shall drink to that."

They did, mostly in comfortable silence. Ferdinand did his best not to let his mind wander, but he could hardly help it as he caught a glimpse of Hubert drinking deep from his cup. Throat bobbing as he swallowed, a quiet hum of appreciation escaping him as he licked his lips-

Ferdinand downed half of his cup in one go, focusing on the heat in his throat.

He placed his cup down again with a sigh. "Hubert," he said, straightening his shoulders.

"Hm?"

"I…fear that perhaps I owe you an apology."

Hubert's brow arched. "Do you? Is this for some slight I'm not yet aware of?"

"No, not exactly." Try as he might, he couldn't force a smile. His voice had little more power behind it than a whisper. "A few days back…at the overlook…" _That _seemed to get Hubert's attention, his grip on his own cup tightening, if only minutely. "I am afraid that I overstepped. Or said something that offended you. I should not have pried into your…personal affairs, Hubert. It was ungentlemanly of me."

Hubert merely stared at him for a moment, his face unreadable, but then he _laughed. _It started as a quiet chuckle, growing quickly into something that made his throw his head back and grin. When he caught his breath again, he said, "My my…that damn noble blood of yours still runs true even in the midst of a bloody war, I see. _Ungentlemanly…_" The word seemed endlessly entertaining to him. "If it will keep you from bothering me with some long-winded apology in the name of chivalry, let me ease your fears, Ferdinand. You did nothing to offend me."

"Are you certain? There must be a reason you have been avoiding me."

"I'm not fond of headaches."

"Was it the talk of marriage?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he wished they hadn't. For the first time, Hubert looked genuinely surprised, his eyes boring into Ferdinand's, his brow pinched, his lips pressing into a hard line. "The talk of marriage…"

"It seemed to…touch a nerve…"

Why was he digging the knife in? Why was he pursuing something so ludicrous? Nothing would come of it but more pain.

"It did no such thing," Hubert spat. "Talk of marriage as much as you like. Your fantasies of running off with some eager young damsel to fawn over your muscles and keep your bed warm hardly bother me."

It felt like a hot iron in his stomach. "I never said anything of the sort."

"You're free to pursue whoever you like if you make it to the other side of this war-"

"It is not any _damsel _that I am interested in pursuing!"

It was rare that he rose his voice in such a way, and it felt almost alien hearing it echo back to him from the edges of the blessedly empty dining hall. It was only then that he realized that he had slammed his hands down on the table, rattling his cup and sending his spoon clattering onto the floor.

Hubert stared at him.

Ferdinand straightened his gloves, doing his best to piece together his dignity. "Forgive me…such an outburst was uncalled for…"

But Hubert didn't seem offended. If anything he looked almost _intrigued. _It showed through in his voice when he finally broke the silence and asked, "If not, then who is the poor soul who's won your affections?"

Was it not obvious? Or perhaps it was so painfully, glaringly obvious that he looked more a fool than he realized. Ferdinand did manage a smile then – one as bitter as the coffee cooling in front of Hubert's crossed arms. "I did tell you back at the overlook…I was relieved that I did not have to marry Bernadetta for plenty of selfish reasons beyond my desire to avoid making her unhappy. Truth be told, I…I would not have been happy with her either. Not because of any failings of her own, but because I…"

Confusion flashed in Hubert's eyes. Then realization. Then something…softer, for just a moment before it was gone.

It was replaced with a small, bemused smile after Ferdinand blinked. "Some prefer coffee," he muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. You just made me think of something Lady Edelgard said to me not too long ago. A person's preferences are truly funny things sometimes, aren't they?"

"They…certainly can be."

"My point remains the same. Whoever you choose to court and marry after this war is over, assuming we make it out alive…" He brought his cup to his lips again, the steam calling a faint pink flush to his skin. "I only hope they can tolerate the whims of your noble heart."

The jab was familiar, and oddly enough it made relief slip through Ferdinand's shoulders and allowed him to smile, genuinely, once more. "Am I truly that difficult to tolerate?"

"Surprisingly enough, you grate on me less and less with each passing day." He smirked. "If we share enough drinks between us I may even begin to enjoy your company."

"I fear that coffee may already be going to your head," Ferdinand chuckled.

"I've subjected myself to plenty of unpleasant tasks, but rest assured I do not count these talks of ours among them. Considering all I've done…I would almost call them pleasant by comparison."

How comforting to know that Hubert found his presence more pleasant than assassination and espionage. Ferdinand truly counted himself lucky.

It made him feel brave enough to push his luck a bit further.

"Hubert…may I…ask you a personal question?"

"I suppose your excellent taste in coffee blends has earned you that much." He extended a hand – a wordless invitation for Ferdinand to continue.

He took a breath. "Have you ever…been in love?"

Hubert was silent for a long moment, bringing his coffee to his lips again and swallowing a respectable amount of it before he answered: "I've come as close as I care to. I've felt devotion, loyalty, care…plenty of emotions I'm sure most people presume I lack."

"Devotion is not the same thing as-"

"It's a trivial difference, at least. I have better things to worry about than pining after some fantasy of married, domestic bliss."

"It is not always something you can help, you know."

"Is there a reason you're so insistent?"

"Is it so wrong of me to want to understand you better after all these years?"

Hubert huffed. "Understand me…I'll never be able to wrap my mind around your motivations. Next you'll be telling me that it's me you're-"

He froze the same instant that Ferdinand did. For a moment – a painfully, _agonizingly _long moment – they stared at each other over the rims of their cups, both hovering just an inch or so away from their lips.

Hubert's lips. Pursed as if he was about to drink when he realized what he was about to say. Still glistening from the coffee he'd just swallowed. They were thin, and as pale as the rest of him, but they never looked chapped or bitten. No, they seemed almost tantalizingly soft.

Next he'd be telling him that it was _him. _

That it had been him for years, longer than Ferdinand had ever realized.

Next he'd be telling him, and holding him, and _kissing him-_

Ferdinand stood so quickly the tableware quivered. "I should go," he said. "There is – training – I should see to. To prepare for our coming battle. Immediately."

He left the remainder of his tea still steaming on the table.

A crying shame.

* * *

Ferdinand lay on the floor of the cathedral and stared up at the ruined windows above. His eyes tracked along the edges of broken glass and twisted metal hanging from aged stone, watching dust motes floating in the waning sunlight that flooded in. It was beautiful, in a broken sort of way. He wondered if those windows would ever be repaired, or if the monastery would be well and truly abandoned when this war was over.

It was an odd thing to think about – their home for so long, that had stood for so much longer before them, being reclaimed by time. Disappearing, as if it had never been here at all. War was much the same, seeming large and unyielding in the moment, and then slowly fading into nothing but pages of history books that students would fall asleep trying to parse.

A pair of eyes slid into his field of vision. "Have you died?"

He sighed. "No, Linhardt. I was merely…thinking."

"On the cathedral floor?" He tilted his head to one side, watching curiously as Ferdinand hoisted himself to his feet. "Even I think this is a rather unfitting place for a nap."

"And why is it that you are visiting it? I never knew you to be an overly religious man."

"I don't really pray much anymore, no," Linhardt mused. "This old place _is _a good spot to do some reading. Nobody ever comes here anymore except for the professor on occasion, and she tends to tread pretty quietly and doesn’t interrupt my research." He made his way over to one of the old, worn pews, sitting down and pulling a book from his bag, as if to prove his point. "I hope you can do the same."

Linhardt winced as he dropped the book on his lap. Ferdinand could still barely make out the bandages under his coat, criss-crossing over his ribs. A reminder of how close they'd come to losing him.

"You should not be carrying such heavy books if you are in pain."

"The book's not that heavy, but I'd gladly let you carry it for me if you're offering." He glanced over the edge of the book. "Though clearly I'm not the only one nursing a wound of some kind. You're very bad at hiding your emotions sometimes, you know that?"

That was precisely why he'd come here. To stare at broken windows in peace where nobody would be able to tell what was going through his mind.

“All your pining is really making it hard to concentrate around this place,” Linhardt sighed.

“_Pining?_” Ferdinand sputtered.

“Yes, pining. It’s honestly a little sad.”

“I am not – what made you think I have been _pining?_”

“Mostly your behavior, your voice, your habits, your face-“

“My _face?_”

“Every time you talk to Hubert you look like a little puppy. Either an excited one that just got an extra treat, or a sad one sitting out in the rain.” He shrugged. “Right now it’s the latter. Worse than I’ve ever seen.”

Ferdinand’s face was so hot that he could barely breathe, let alone reply. But Linhardt didn’t give him the chance anyway.

“Just how long have you been in love with Edelgard’s shadowy right hand, hm? I’d wager at least a year or more.”

He felt like he was floundering. No, like he was _drowning. _And no matter how hard the tried, he couldn’t conjure a retort. Perhaps because there wasn’t one. He let his shoulders slump, wondering if he could lower himself down onto the cold stone again to stop his thoughts from racing. “I…am not sure…How did you know, Linhardt? Am I truly that obvious?”

“You’re not, and I didn’t. Well, _now _I do, because you just confirmed it. Thankfully – or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it – Hubert seems to be just as uncharacteristically dense as you are when it comes to this peculiar little dance you two are doing. I don’t think he even knows.” He sighed as he stuck his nose back in his book again. “Probably why he gives off much the same longing aura that you do sometimes. Lord, he’d probably flay me alive if he ever caught me saying that.”

Likely.

Linhardt set his book down on his lap, clasping his hands over it as if he was about to give Ferdinand the lecture of his life. “Listen,” he said. “I almost died in our last battle. There was a moment I really thought that it was the end. My research would go unfinished, the library would surely fall into a state of utter chaos without my re-shelving all the books Bernadetta fails put back in the right spot, and I’d have no more naps in the sun. But then…I didn’t die. Believe me, that arrow hurt like _three hells _in my side, but I lived. And I must say…I approached my research with newfound appreciation. As I did my afternoon naps.”

“What precisely is your point, Linhardt?”

“My _point _is that we’re in the middle of a war, and wasting time is just a pointless endeavor. If I’d had someone I wanted to court I would have _done _it the second I was on my feet again. Luckily, I don’t, so I was able to put that time to better use. But _you…_well, I wish you would just get it over with already.”

“Get it…over with?”

Linhardt seemed to be trying very hard not to roll his eyes. He closed his book and stood. “For Sothis’ sake, Ferdinand, tell Hubert how you feel. If he accepts then even if the Knights of Seiros have all our heads, at least you won’t have any regrets.”

“And if he…” Ferdinand gulped. “…doesn’t accept?”

Linhardt was already turning on his heel and heading for the door. “Then he’ll leave you hanging from the tallest spire in the monastery, probably. Either way I’ll have my favorite reading spot back without you sulking in it. Until then, I suppose it’s back to the library for me.”

Ferdinand didn’t much like the idea of meeting such a tragic end.

Yet, he couldn’t help but admit that Linhardt had a decent point.

* * *

It was decided – they were to march in two days.

The preparations were largely completed. There was nothing to do but wait. Sharpen weapons, re-fit armor, string bows. The time passed sluggishly, and yet all too fast at once.

They gathered in the dining hall late in the evening, as the sun was beginning to set. There was no announcement, but it was an unspoken arrangement that they should share a meal together. All of them. The Black Eagles, meeting as a class once more. It could very well be the last time, all of them knew. For some of them. For all of them. When the dust settled once again, things would never be the same, that much was certain. So for the time being, they gathered and opened the wine stores, ate cured meat and roasted vegetables and freshly baked cakes.

In the midst of the uncertainty and fear looming over them about what was to come, they celebrated. They laughed. Edelgard toasted to their coming victory and they raised their glasses and chose to believe that it would come to pass.

And in the middle of it all, with a pleasant flush in his face and a full belly, Ferdinand looked across the table and locked eyes with Hubert. For a moment, he barely noticed Caspar practically climbing across the table to fight Linhardt for the last roll or Dorothea threatening to level them both with a thunderbolt if they dared spill wine on her dress. Everything melted away, as Hubert sent him a curt nod and tilted his cup in his direction.

_To surviving this blasted war. _

Perhaps they had wasted enough time.

Ferdinand slammed his goblet down on the table and stood with enough force and suddenness to stop all conversation around them. He stretched out his arm, one gloved finger pointed directly between Hubert’s eyes, and tried to will it not to shake.

“_Hubert von Vestra,_” he boomed.

All eyes on him.

The dining hall was so silent it may as well have been abandoned completely.

He swallowed, then took a leap of faith.

“I wish to court you!”

Oh, if he had thought it was silent _before- _

Beside him, Caspar dropped the roll he’d pried from Linhardt’s hands. Petra stared at him with her palms pressed against her mouth. Edelgard looked like she had just watched him sprout a second head.

And Hubert was redder than Ferdinand had ever seen him in his life. He made…a noise. One that made him sound a bit like he was dying.

Dorothea was the one to break the silence: “_Hubie, _for hell’s sake say something!”

“What…” Hubert’s voice wavered, his knuckles white against the table. “What am I meant…to say…to something like…like…”

“_Yes, _obviously.”

Then Hubert was on his feet, the cutlery clattering to the ground around him. He stared Ferdinand down with such intensity that he half expected the ground to open up and swallow him right then and there. “_You,_” he hissed. “Outside. Now.”

He turned, cloak flaring out behind him, and stalked out through the doors into the garden, and Ferdinand almost tripped over himself stumbling after him, zombie-like. Numb.

Goddess, had he made a mistake? Was this the culmination of everything he’d been dreading? Was he going to wake up the next morning suspended from the spire above them by his hair?

He made it out the door, the cool air evening air hitting him like a splash of water, and he froze. Hubert was…shaking. Hunched over, facing away from him, hands curled into tight fists, _quivering _like he’d been standing out in the snow for hours. Ferdinand swallowed, his mouth dry. “Hubert…are you…”

Then Hubert tilted his head back and…laughed. Softly at first, then growing into a loud, unbridled, breathless laugh that echoed down the path. He pressed his gloved hand over his eyes and stood there, facing the heavens.

Ferdinand wondered if the man had finally broken. Thanks to him.

“You are…without a doubt…the most unbelievably, unequivocally, irredeemably _ludicrous _man I have ever met in all my years, Ferdinand von Aegir.”

Ferdinand drew a slow, shaking breath. “If you wish to refuse my offer, you need only say so.”

At least the view from the top of the spire was sure to be a nice one.

“Your _offer?_” Hubert spat. “What offer was that? To _court _me? To seek my hand in _marriage?_ We are on the eve of our greatest battle yet, and you wish to spend your time cavorting around the monastery like lovebirds?”

“I never said that,” Ferdinand insisted. “But I am tired of wasting time. Refuse or accept, I will not hide my feelings any longer.”

“How noble of you.”

“As you said, the battle ahead will be our greatest challenge yet. I am not naïve, Hubert. I know that the cost may be great. And if the worst should happen I do not wish to leave behind any regrets.”

“And _that _is precisely why I can’t. No matter how much I might…” He cut himself off with that noise again – one that made him sound like he was in _pain. _Like whatever he was about to say was agony. “I cannot…I cannot possibly…”

“Cannot what?” He took a step closer, pushing his luck. “Cannot what, Hubert?”

He growled, anger contorting his face. But not anger at Ferdinand. No, it was anger at _himself. _“This is precisely why I tried to keep my distance,” he spat. “I cannot afford to set foot on that battlefield with an ounce of distraction. And _you _are a distraction. The fear of losing you is a _distraction. _And it is one that I cannot afford. Neither of us can afford-“

“I love you.” Hubert’s eyes squeezed shut as if it pained him. “Hubert…”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Well I do.” He managed a laugh – a small, shaky, almost bitter thing. “Believe me, I have tried to deny it. But you make a good point. This battle could very well be our last, and I…”

A leap of faith.

He reached out and grasped Hubert’s hand.

He almost expected him to recoil, expected him to flee, expected a burst of miasma powerful enough to melt the skin from his bones – but Hubert stayed right where he stood. His thumb twitched, as if resisting the urge to curl around Ferdinand’s fingers.

“Will you look at me?” Ferdinand pleaded.

A forlorn smile stretched across Hubert’s face. “What a cruel request.”

“Please…”

Hubert relented, and goddess above, Ferdinand had never been close enough to admire just how beautiful the man’s eyes were. It was rare that he showed emotion on his face, but just then Ferdinand realized that they were alive in his eyes – fear, uncertainty, determination, _desire. _It was all plain to see.

He had just never gotten close enough to notice it before.

“After the battle,” Ferdinand said with renewed determination, “Meet me for tea.”

Hubert huffed out a half-laugh that Ferdinand could feel against his cheek. “Is that truly all you want?”

“We will meet here, when we are victorious. And _then _I will kiss you.” Hubert’s eyes snapped to meet his again, flashing with _want. _“If…if you would allow me…”

“A noble through and through, as usual.” Hubert smirked. “I suppose that I will have to drag myself bloody and broken from the fray no matter the cost.” Finally, Hubert’s grip tightened around Ferdinand’s wrist, tugging him close until he was just a hair’s breadth away. Ferdinand could feel the desire to kiss him tingling like static around them. “Die on the battlefield, and I will kill you.”

Ferdinand’s heart leaped in his chest, with joy, with anxiety, with a thousand other emotions that threatened to bowl him over. “I shall strive not to die then.”

Hubert nodded. “See to it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert and Ferdinand meet for tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this little fic of mine! I'm enjoying writing these two idiots so much and I hope to contribute more for them in the future. <3

The battle ended, as all battles did, and with it, so did the war. The Kingdom army had fallen, the Immaculate One lay defeated in the remains of the fire, and the Knights of Seiros were already falling back in retreat.

They had won.

And Hubert was relatively certain he was dying.

His horse snorted under him, shaking her head in protest of the smoke and ash layered over her coat and the dying flames licking at her hooves, but she pressed onward, making her way over the corpses and rubble that littered the street. She seemed to know where she was going, or at the very least that she wanted to be far from where she _was. _In either case, it was all Hubert could do to hold his eyes open, let alone guide her out of the ruined city. His entire body throbbed with pain, but it was dull and distant. He could already feel blood matting his horse's fur under his body from where his skin had split from the force of the magic spear thrust into his stomach from that damned cursed doll.

Hubert von Vestra, brought to the edge of demise by a monster's spell and carried home by a horse named _Chamomile _of all things. Even if he died, he could appreciate the irony.

His horse stopped and whinnied, her muscles tensing in agitation. One of the knights come to deal one last blow, he wondered? If so, then this was surely it. He could barely close his hands around the reins, let alone manage a single spell, and the dagger tucked on his belt may as well have been a quill for all the good it would do him.

"Hubert?"

That voice did seem familiar.

"Shit – Hubert!"

That volume was _definitely _familiar.

The next thing he knew he was being tugged down from his horse, too damn weak to protest or do anything but fall like ragdoll onto the cobblestone. He forced his eyes opened and found Caspar, face stained with ash and dirt, looking equal parts ecstatic and terrified. "Oh man, that doesn't look good."

Hubert coughed. "You don't say."

"Where the hell is Linhardt…or Dorothea…Professor? Or Lysithea – she knows healing magic. Aw, why didn't I pay attention in those lectures back at the academy?"

Hubert really couldn't blame him – he hadn't been at all interested in learning faith magic either. Not that it would do him much good now when he was barely strong enough to let out a curse when Caspar pressed his hands against the wound.

"Don't die, okay? Remember, you've got a date to get to."

He tried to manage a biting reply, but all he could do was groan before he blacked out.

* * *

He drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity.

The heat of the fire faded, but the smell of sulfur and ash clung to him as someone carried him – not his horse, but he had no way of knowing who – out past the walls. There were voices: Caspar yelling for help until his voice cracked, Linhardt cursing quietly as he tried to seal his wounds, Lady Edelgard commanding him not do die.

At one point he opened his eyes and saw stars above, twinkling behind a veil of smoke that was still rising from the city. Then the arching entryway of the Garreg Mach. Next a pair of gleaming golden eyes framed by matted, tangled red hair.

When he came to again, he was shirtless, aching, stiff, and lying prone tucked into a set of cool, crisp sheets in an infirmary bed. It felt like he was coming out of a fever, his head swimming with exhaustion. He swore he could still smell smoke, but his skin was clean.

Either he had lived, or hell was a very boring place.

Curious, he lifted the sheets. Clean bandages wrapped around his midsection, covering a thick patch of gauze over where that blasted spear had pierced his stomach. Hells, it _ached, _but not much worse than the rest of him did, so perhaps that was a small blessing.

The door creaked, and Hubert turned to find Linhardt holding a rag and a bundle of herbs that looked fresh from the greenhouse. "Oh," he said, blinking. "You're not dead."

"No," Hubert croaked.

"Thank Sothis. Ferdinand would have been a wreck if you were." He sat down at the desk and got to work sorting out the herbs, throwing a handful into a mortar and pestle. "I'm making you something for the pain. It'll taste terrible and probably put you to sleep for a few hours at least, but you could probably use the rest anyway."

"I don't need-"

"Yes you do."

Hubert sighed. "Did you remove my armor?"

"Yes, and cleaned off the blood and bandaged you up."

"You _can't stand _blood."

"If you want to thank me, you could always just never mention it again."

That sounded perfect.

"I guess I'll have to go down and tell everyone that you're alive," Linhardt added. "Everyone was so worried. I'm almost impressed – I never imagined you could fail so badly at making everyone terrified of you."

"Nh…"

"Here-" He was holding out a cup filled with a vile-looking paste. "Like I said, it tastes terrible. Believe me, I had to choke it down when I got hit with that arrow. But you'll thank me in a few minutes. Just pretend it's bitter that coffee you're so fond of."

Hubert did. It didn't help. But he managed to get it down, cursing as he did.

"So," Linhardt said, "Are you going to take Ferdinand up on his offer?"

Hubert scowled. "I nearly died and you're asking me about _that?_"

"Well, you're clearly not dead, and I have fifty gold riding on your answer."

"_Fifty-_"

"Caspar as a hundred. Please don't cost me any money."

"Tell me, are you betting for or against me?"

"If I tell you, you'll probably just try to toy with me. And after all the effort I had to go through to get you patched up and the robes you _ruined _by bleeding all over them, I think I've earned a truthful answer."

He let his head fall back against the pillow, praying for the herbs to kick in soon so that he could drift away into unconsciousness and be free of this ridiculous conversation. Ferdinand's ridiculous _offer…_ wishing to court him and woo him and kiss him. He'd never heard of anything so ludicrous.

He managed a weak little smirk. "Yes," he said, "I think I will."

Maybe those herbs _were _working.

Linhardt sighed. "Damn…well, at least I can get my money back in wine at the wedding."

The door slammed open again, and for half a moment Hubert wondered if Linhardt had left him to sleep in peace, but the voice that broke the silence made his eyes fly open: "_Hubert._"

He met Ferdinand's wide-eyed gaze and huffed out a laugh. "Seems the universe continues to torment me."

Ferdinand looked uncharacteristically sheepish as he approached the bed, heavy bags under his usually bright eyes and hair tied back in an unkempt bun. It wasn't like him to let his appearance go so easily. Then again, a fierce a war as this could do that to a person, and he was certain he himself looked much worse.

"And here you told me that you would kill me if I dared to die on the battlefield," Ferdinand laughed.

"Mm…seems I should have heeded my own threat."

"I would have been sorely offended if you had died before you could use the rest of that coffee I bought you. It was not cheap, you know."

"You could have used it as an opportunity to refine your own pallet," Hubert pointed out. His head was starting to swim, the pain in his stomach and limbs fading to something almost dreamlike. From the way Ferdinand was trying to suppress a laugh, he figured he must be slurring his words. "Linhardt…gave me…"

"Something for the pain, I know. It is for the best." Despite the numb heaviness seeping into his fingers, Hubert could still feel the heat of Ferdinand's hands closing around his own – warm skin against his instead of aged leather. "I fear I did you a disservice, springing my feelings on you so suddenly right before the battle." He frowned. "Distracting you…"

"I would have been distracted regardless," Hubert huffed. "Don't flatter yourself – my almost dying had nothing to do with your inane confession."

"And would you still…" He shook his head. "Ah…no…you are clearly not in any state to answer. I should let you rest. But I will have your coffee ready for you when you are well again. Should you want it."

Ferdinand's face was practically swirling into an unintelligible mess of orange and pink, and for some reason all Hubert could do in response was laugh. "You are pathetic, do you know that? Falling in love with someone like me…"

Hells, the way Ferdinand's thumb stroked over his knuckles was so _tender _he could have gone mad.

If Ferdinand said anything in retort, it was lost in the abyss.

* * *

He hauled himself out of bed two days before he was meant to. The war was coming to an end, yes, but there was still much to be done. Perhaps even more now than ever. Certainly too much for him to waste any more time sleeping away his hours in a haze. No, there were tasks he had to see to, even if it took him nearly half an hour to dress himself properly to do so.

His walk toward his office, short as it was, took longer than he would ever care to admit, but he made it there none the less. He stepped through the doorway and came face to face with the emperor herself, who went from surprised to stern in the span of less than a breath.

"What on earth are you doing out of bed?"

"Seeing to my duties, your majesty," he said, bowing and ignoring the twinge in his stomach when he did.

Straightening up again was twice as painful. He tried not to let it show on his face. From the way Edelgard frowned, he had failed. "You should be resting," she insisted. "You had your stomach torn open, for goodness' sake."

"A grim exaggeration, surely."

"Not by much, judging from the amount of blood you lost. Linhardt looked paler than I've ever seen him. Do not make me _order _you back to bed."

"If you would like me to drag myself back to the infirmary, Lady Edelgard, I'm afraid you'll have to threaten me with the executioner's block to do so."

She sighed. "Why am I not surprised?" Although she tried to hide it, she did allow a smile to slip onto her face. "It is good to see you up and being your usual stubborn self again, Hubert. I'd thought we'd lost you for a moment, and I must admit…it was one of the more terrifying moments of my life."

"More terrifying than facing down a giant demonic beast intent on seeing to your demise?" he countered, brow arching.

And then she did something that surprised him more than the spear through his guts had. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"The latest in a long line of terrifying ordeals." Her voice wavered, so minutely that he wondered if he'd imagined it. Her smile was warm and genuine when she stepped back and looked up at him again. "And if you dare to put me through something like that again, I really will call for your execution."

"You would execute me for dying?"

"Yes."

"Fair enough."

When he moved to try and reach his desk again, she stopped him with one hand pressed against his chest. "I still cannot allow you to set foot in this office yet, either."

"Lady Edelgard…I have a duty to you. The end of the war calls for-"

"There is much to see to, yes. Surely you have enough faith in me to know that I've managed while you've been in bed." She turned from him to make her way to his desk, sitting there in his stead. "Besides, there's something else that I need you to attend to." There was no mistaking it – her smile was almost _playful. _"You have an appointment with the Prime Minister, I believe."

He felt like that spear had dislodged something inside of him that was now banging and twisting around under his ribs, making it harder to breathe. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Perhaps it was the fact that he could still feel Ferdinand's bare hand pressing against his when he clenched his gloved fingers into a fist.

He swore Edelgard stifled a _giggle _as he cleared his throat. "The Prime Minister…of course."

"Don't be late."

"Never, Lady Edelgard."

He suffered through another bow just to feel something that wasn't this blasted fluttering in his chest, and made his way out the doors.

* * *

He was almost out of breath by the time he made it to the garden, his stomach aching as he lowered himself onto the first free bench he could find. Had it really taken just one spear to the belly to turn him into an invalid? Surely he was not so easily broken. And yet the thought of falling back into bed again almost – _almost _– seemed tempting.

He caught a glimpse of a pair of boots stopping before him, and that damn fluttering in his stomach was back when he realized whose they were. "You came," he smirked.

"We had an appointment," Ferdinand answered. "Though I will admit, you are a bit early. I had thought you would be in bed at least a few more days."

"A few more _days _in bed…I can't think of any worse fate."

Ferdinand raised a brow. "Are you saying that you would actually _prefer _to have tea with me?"

"Perhaps I am."

"I think you may have lost more blood than you first thought, then."

This was comfortable. More than Hubert had ever cared to realize. Despite the pain and fatigue and fogginess still wreaking havoc on his body, he could still manage a bit of familiar banter. And as loathe as he was to admit it, Ferdinand brewed better coffee than anyone else in the monastery, save for himself of course.

The minute the first sip touched his lips, he could have cried. How had he not gone completely insane all those days in bed without a hint of coffee?

Ferdinand made a show of starting to sip his tea, but merely held the cup to his lips. It was as if he was trying to hide behind it. "I admit…I was not certain whether you would meet me."

He could almost picture it, Ferdinand pacing back and forth in his quarters, wondering what he would say to that _proposal _of his. What an interesting position of power he'd found himself in, Hubert mused. Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir hanging on his every word.

And yet, he felt supremely powerless.

He placed his cup on the table, content to let the scent of what remained envelope him for a few minutes more. "The war may be over," he said, "but you know that my life and loyalty still lie firmly with Lady Edelgard and her future efforts to unite Fodlan."

"Anyone who has known you more than a day would be mad to expect you to give that up," Ferdinand sighed. "And I have known you for far longer, for better or for worse."

"Long enough for our time together to drive you to madness, it seems." He allowed a wicked smirk to slip onto his face. "That must be true if you truly _love _me, as you said before I got myself skewered in battle."

Ferdinand swallowed, fingers tightening around his own cup. "I do. I cannot deny that much now." His own smile was almost a sad one. "Do you really think that makes me mad?"

Surely he must be. There was no other reason for someone – _anyone, _let alone a bright-eyed knight who managed to smile through a war and whose optimism was nothing less than ostentatious – to love him. The blood on his hands surely must have seeped into his bones by now, and his soul must have been mired by all of the poison and gold he had slipped into the hands of enemies and allies alike.

He was walking a path. A bloody path cast in shadow that was best walked alone.

And yet Ferdinand, staring at him as if he could hear his thoughts, _laughed. _"I think I know what you are planning to say," he said, sipping his tea and looking maddeningly smug.

"And what is that, pray tell?"

He set his cup down on his saucer, folding his hands on the table before him. "I think you are about to tell me that you think I must be insane for falling in love with someone I once could not stand. As if you somehow deserve to be hated."

As grating as his disposition could be, Hubert couldn't deny that this man was _perceptive. _"If you knew all I'd done-"

"I do not _care _what you have done, Hubert." The next moment his hand was reaching out again, and the next thing Hubert knew Ferdinand was holding his tight, leaning across the table and all but forcing him to look in his eye. "Do you truly think you are the only one who has done questionable things during this war? Despicable things? We may not carry precisely the same burdens, but that does not mean that either of us needs to carry them alone."

Hubert couldn't do much more than blink at him.

Ferdinand's fingers curled against his, his other hand layering overtop of Hubert's knuckles. "I love you," he insisted, and Hubert felt like that spear had struck him dead in the center of his chest instead of his stomach. "I will say it as many times as I need to for you to believe it."

Mad. This man was mad.

But then again, perhaps this war had done in the last of his own sanity too.

Ferdinand's hand slipped from his without resistance as Hubert pushed himself to his feet. He could feel those blazing eyes boring into him as he stepped back from the table. As he came around the other side of it.

"You don't need to go declaring your noble intentions for all the world to hear," he said. "Just stand up, Ferdinand."

He did, and Hubert didn't waste another second before tangling his hands in that damn silky mane of his and tugging him in to kiss him. _Kiss him, _as if it was the easiest thing in the world. As if he hadn't imagined it a thousand times and chided himself for it a thousand times on top of that. He kissed him, and Ferdinand's arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him there as he kissed him back.

Ferdinand was _laughing _as he pulled away, and Hubert fought off the spinning in his head long enough to growl, "_What _are you laughing about?"

"You…" His laughter cut him off, shaking his shoulders and making his hair fall messily into his flushed face. Finally, he caught his breath and forced out, "You…you taste like _coffee._"

He was in love with a madman.

A madman who made him laugh just the same. So he supposed that made him mad too.

* * *

A knock on the door drew Hubert's attention from his paperwork, just long enough for him to hiss, "What?"

From the other side of the door: "Your hus- Ah, the Prime Minister is here to see you, sir."

"Send him in."

He didn't bother looking up from where his quill was scratching along the paper, even when the door opened and a pair of boots stomped up to the other side of his desk. He paused a moment when a gloved hand slid into his field of vision and tapped against the wood. "Not even a hello?" Ferdinand asked, and he was grinning when Hubert did finally drop his quill into the inkwell and look up at him.

"Prime Minister," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"I cannot drop in on my _husband _every now and then for a simple hello?"

He used that term every chance he got – introductions, diplomatic conversations, haggling over the price of potatoes. It never failed to come out of his mouth: _This is my husband, Minister of the Imperial Household, Hubert von Vestra._

He stood from his desk, leaving the ink to dry on the papers and standing toe to toe with the Prime Minister. "Your _husband _is busy."

"Too busy to even greet me?" His smile never faltered. It almost urged a matching one to make its way to Hubert's face.

He allowed himself a small smirk, hooking his gloved finger under the edge of Ferdinand's collar and giving it a playful tug. "You're distracting me."

Ferdinand's eyes lit up. "Am I?" He leaned forward, hands pressing shamelessly against Hubert's hips until he felt the edge of his desk nudging at the backs of his thighs. "Oh, my apologies, Lord Vestra. Is this less distracting for you?"

Damn him, he did laugh at that. "Decidedly not."

Those lips found the underside of Hubert's jaw and made a nice home there, making Hubert press his teeth into his lower lip to keep from making even more of a fool of himself. "Forgive me. My poor husband has been locked away in his office for so long I am starting to forget what he looks like."

"Would you wither and die so quickly without more attention?" Hubert asked, smirking.

"Absolutely."

"Perhaps I would relish a bit of a distraction then…" He sighed. "As long as you don't smudge any ink. And as long as you…keep doing _that..._with your mouth…"

The glint in Ferdinand's eye was positively _devilish. _"I can promise one of those things."

"Promise both or I'll have your head."

Ferdinand answered by tugging him away from the desk and pressing his back against the wall instead, leaving the papers to dry in peace while he kept his promise. And to his credit, both of them were thoroughly, wonderfully, lusciously _distracted. _


End file.
